Batman Drabbles
by Trumpeteer34
Summary: A collection of stories that were not quite long enough to be a one-shot. All Batman related.
1. Blind Spots

I do not own any of the characters present in this. They belong to DC Comics (Batman, in particular). This was done purely for fun.

* * *

A soft groan escaped from the villain as feeling slowly began to return to his body. His neck was killing him, as were other various parts of his body. His eyelids fluttered open after he drew a hissing breath in, pain shooting through his chest. He felt like he was moving; each slight bounce he felt made his neck scream in pain. He realized he was staring up at the dark interior of a vehicle, craning his neck.

Jervis Tetch finally brought his head forward so he was sitting in the seat he was in properly. He felt like a bobble-head; if he wasn't so disoriented, he would have started giggling at the thought. His droopy eyes fell to his lap, where his gloved hands rested. He noticed the handcuffs around his wrists with the all-too-familiar bat resemblance.

The grogginess began to lift as his eyes rose to the windshield. He hardly saw the road flying by beneath them. His memories of his brief battle with the Caped Crusader flashed through his mind.

He blinked dully and looked to his left. Sure enough, sitting in the driver's seat of the vehicle, was the Batman. The Mad Hatter had been caught, again, and was being transported via the Batmobile back to the doctors and orderlies of Arkham Asylum.

"Well," Jervis began after making a clicking sound with his tongue, "I guess you caught me."

Batman's eyes never left the road before him. He held the steering wheel with a rock-hard grip. "That is an astute assumption, Jervis," he replied in a low voice before falling silent.

A single laugh escaped from the Mad Hatter and a grin plastered itself to his face. He began to study the inside of the Batmobile. "Y'know, this is the first time I've actually not been unconscious in your car…" He turned in his seat and looked behind him. "You have no back windows."

The Dark Knight said nothing. His brow hardened beneath his cowl and his eyes narrowed slightly, hinting at the fact that he was getting annoyed.

Jervis turned back around and stared at Batman. "How do you reverse this thing?" Before there was the possibility of an answer, the sandy-haired man had looked out his passenger-side window. "You have no mirrors, either…"

He pressed his face against the cool glass in an attempt to see the side of the car. "You must have some serious blind spots…" He started laughing to himself as he faced forward. "You're literally driving "blind as a bat," aren't you?"


	2. Arts and Crafts

I do not own Jonathan Crane (aka The Scarecrow) or Jervis Tetch (aka The Mad Hatter). Quote is from Lewis Carroll's _Alice in Wonderland._ They belong to DC Comics. This was written purely for fun.

* * *

"Alright, everyone, it's time for arts and crafts."

One of the Arkham workers walked around the small group of inmates present for the session. A small paper plate was placed on a stool between pairs of inmates, along with two paint brushes. The psychologist holding the session sat in the center of the circle of canvases, holding a clipboard against her bosom. She readjusted the glasses on her nose and rose to her feet.

"I'd like you to paint what you have on your mind," she explained gently, her eyes falling over each of the inmates for a moment. "How are you feeling today? Just paint whatever you are feeling right now."

Her eyes met with the very irritated eyes of one Jonathan Crane. He stood scowling at her, his thin arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown on his face. The two exchanged a brief stare before she looked to his left at Jervis Tetch. "Go ahead and get started."

"I can't believe they're making us do this," Crane muttered under his breath. "This is such a waste of time…"

As his enraged eyes turned to pierce the blank canvas before him, Jervis shrugged and picked up a paintbrush. "'If you knew Time as well as I do…'" he replied in a bored tone, the quote trailing off. "The faster you do it, the sooner it will be over."

Crane harrumphed, but didn't break his stare with the canvas. Jervis was right…

He finally uncrossed one of his arms, leaving the other wrapped around his chest. He gingerly placed his index finger in the black paint sitting on the plate. He lifted his hand, his pointer finger still extended, and he examined the white canvas before him. The paint slowly began to roll down the digit.

In a slow and deliberate motion, he pressed his finger to the right side of the canvas. He kept his finger there for a moment before he removed it, leaving a single black mark against the white background. He dipped the digit into the paper cup of water to clean the paint off of him. His dark eyes studied the canvas with a look of sheer boredom sprawled across his face.

"I'm done," he announced shortly.

As he began rubbing his index finger and thumb together to remove the excess paint, the psychologist turned and looked at him. She made her way over to his side and examined the piece of artwork. Her shoulder slumped every-so-slightly, but she kept a professional air about herself. "Hmm…" she began. The only mark on the canvas was a single black spot on the right side, not designated to any certain area. It looked out of place, off center.

"Care to explain why you painted this?" she asked him.

Jervis by this time had peeked around his canvas at Jonathan's, a curious expression on his face.

Crane turned to glare down at the woman, a mocking grin on his face. "You're the psychologist," he sneered. He thrust his finger toward the painting, his smile vanishing into a look of pure contempt. "_You_ figure it out."

He turned on his heel toward the door, leaving a slightly stunned woman behind. Jervis stared after him, trying to hide a grin.


	3. Music

Wow, sorry for my lack of activity. It feels like it's been a while...and then I present you with this nonsense. Haha, I hope you enjoy it.

I do not own Jonathan Crane (aka The Scarecrow) or Jervis Tetch (aka The Mad Hatter). They belong to DC Comics. This was written purely for fun.

* * *

'We needed the car. We needed the car,' Jonathan Crane kept telling himself. That didn't stop him from tightening his death-grip on the steering wheel of the vehicle he and Jervis had stolen to escape from Gotham.

It wasn't until they had passed the city limits that Crane noticed the fuzzy pink dice hanging from the rearview mirror. He continued to glare back and forth from the open country road to the obnoxious dice, his irritation going up a notch each time he did so.

His eyes shot to Jervis.

The Mad Hatter, out of costume for the sake of not being recognized, was staring out the passenger window at the beginnings of the sunrise on the countryside. His eyes drifted to the mirror from time to time to check if the police were on their tail before settling back on the horizon.

Jonathan's eyes began to move back to the road, but not before they locked on the fuzzy dice again. With an aggravated growl, he ripped the dice from the rearview mirror and threw it deeper into the car.

Jervis had glanced over at the Scarecrow when he had made a noise, breaking the silence in the car. Both men sat staring out the windshield for several moments, one bored and the other ready to snap. Despite his eyes being locked on the road, Jonathan could tell Jervis was glancing over at him, then back to the road, and then back to him again.

_"What?"_ Crane finally snapped, his eyes shooting over to the blonde man.

Jervis looked over at him again. "Would it distract you if I turned on the radio?" he asked.

Jonathan glared over at him. "No, you may _not_ turn on the radio." When Jervis gave him a questioning eye, he gestured violently at the broken radio antenna beyond the windshield. "Do you _not_ remember the cops _shooting_ at us? They took off the radio antenna!" He turned to scowl at the open road before them.

Jervis sat silently for a moment, his blue eyes on what was left of the antenna, before he broke into a grin. "Well," he reached over Jonathan and pulled out the collection of CDs in the visor, "let's see what the fine young miss listens to."

He heard Jonathan grumble something under his breath, but decided to ignore it. "It's going to be a long ride, Jonathan. Anything would be better than silence."

"Are you afraid of silence?" Jonathan asked in a low voice, shooting the Mad Hatter a devious eye and a wicked grin.

Jervis rolled his eyes and began to look through the CDs. He flipped past quite a number of them before he spoke again. "Well, I could be wrong…"

"What?"

"This girl's taste in music is ridiculous," Jervis remarked with a huff as he continued looking through the collection. "The static from that broken radio would be more preferable than this stuff and nonsense."

Jonathan risked a look over at the disk Jervis was currently looking at. He made a face when he saw the group of young males supposedly making "seductive" faces. His eyes darted back to the road.

Jervis held the disk up for Jonathan to see more clearly. "Would you like to listen to love-sick teenage pop?" he asked politely.

"Whose idea was it to steal this car?" Jonathan growled.

"Hey, the cops and the Bat were after us. We didn't exactly have time to browse," Jervis said as he kept looking through the disks. "Besides, this was the first car that was unlocked."

"_And_ the windows were down," Jonathan pointed out.

Jervis looked up. "You'd think parents would teach their kids better, living in Gotham…"

Silence filled the vehicle again. Jonathan was silently cursing the owner of the vehicle when a "hmm" sounded from the Englishman in the passenger seat.

Jervis showed the driver the CD. It was a plain silver disk with the exception of a frown-y face drawn in permanent marker scrawled across the front. "I can safely say my curiosity is piqued."

Jonathan looked from the CD to Jervis, a skeptical and somewhat nervous look on his face. Still, he couldn't deny that he was curious too.

Since there was no objection, Jervis cautiously put the disk into the player. They both tensed, unsure if they wanted to hear whatever was about to be poured out of the car's speakers.

Both men jumped slightly when an electric guitar backed by a heavy drum beat blasted through the car, the volume remarkably high. Jervis searched for the volume button as the introduction to the song loudly continued.

His search ended abruptly when a male voice began to sing in the most nasally and whiny of voices. Jervis instantly began laughing madly.

With the Hatter otherwise occupied, Jonathan fumbled to eject the disk before his ears began to bleed. The atrocious singing finally came to a stop as Crane ripped the disk away from the player. Jervis continued to cackle in his seat as Jonathan rolled down the window. He flung the disk from the speeding car.

"Oh dear…" Jervis finally said between fits of giggling. He glanced over at Jonathan. "I think that must have been her "angry CD"."

Jonathan shot Jervis a glare, which made him start giggling again.

Jervis managed to stifle his laughter. "I vote for silence," he said at long last.

"I vote we burn this abomination of a vehicle the first chance we get," Jonathan declared.

Jervis chuckled. "I think that's the only appropriate thing we can do with this beastly car," he agreed.

* * *

Reports of a car fire reached Gotham that night after the local police force of a neighboring town was able to match the vehicle to the description of a stolen car from the city. The firefighters weren't able to stop the rabid flames in time. All that was left of the car was a charred metal shell.

* * *

A/N: A little longer than my other drabbles, but I don't think this would stand on its own... I don't mean to offend anyone with their music tastes. I just don't see either of them enjoying pop music or this newer rock music...then again, that could just be my musical preferences speaking. I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!


	4. Hurt

I do not own any of the characters present in this piece. They belong to DC Comics. This was written purely for fun.

This is **_not_** a humor story. Enjoy!

* * *

The cool breeze that hit his face brought back some semblance of lucidity. With a terrible amount of effort, Jonathan Crane opened his eyes. He was met with the sight of dingy brick. Oh...yeah. He was still in that alley. How long had he been here, leaned against the wall and trying to collect enough energy to keep moving?

He fought to keep his eyes open. He set his jaw and struggled to bring his right arm up. He placed his hand upon the brick, cold and rough against his palm. It took nearly all of his will power to fight the desire to just stay against the wall, but he knew that he had to keep moving. He pushed himself away from the wall and stumbled backward. When he caught his footing, he looked blearily at the wall, at the dark stains that was obvious upon the brick even in the dark.

The common clamor of the city was lost upon him. He stood in the cold night air, listening only to the sound of droplets hitting the concrete. He bowed his head and watched the slowly growing puddle of blood. His eyes followed a drop of blood from the tip of his nose that splashed down into the pool of crimson life.

He blinked from his trance and snapped his head back up and turned toward the mouth of the alley. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment when the buildings began to dance and sway. The skyline and the ground blurred together when he opened his eyes again. After a moment of observing the dizzying sight before him, he took a steadying breath and stepped off, stumbling over the waves of asphalt that rolled beneath his feet.

He staggered across the deserted, poorly-lit sidewalk, having no idea where he was going. His feet seemed to know what direction he was going in; Crane was just along for the ride. He hardly remembered moving through this part of the city, past the broken down buildings and over shattered glass. He slipped in and out of awareness, usually emerging from his daze when he found himself about to bump into a building. He'd lay his right hand on the side of the structure and push himself back onto the sidewalk.

When he finally regained awareness again, he found himself against a door. His forehead was pressed against the wooden entry. He grimaced when his head throbbed, drawing a hissing breath in through clenched teeth. He bought a shaky right hand up and let it fall against the door, making a quiet knock sound. He felt his eyes slip shut—

His eyes shot open when the door began to open. He instantly readied the toxin hidden in his sleeve. He didn't realize that the door had been the only thing keeping him standing; as it opened, he fell forward.

A gasp reached his ears, along with what sounded like "Jon—!"

Jonathan fell into somebody, his forehead coming to a rest against one shoulder and his right hand draping over the other. His eyes closed when his head had collided and he completely lost his footing. Instead of falling, as he thought he would, the person took a step back to support his weight. He felt a powerful grip on his left arm, just above his elbow, and another under his right arm and upon his back. He was being held up by the person he had collapsed into, not being pushed away like he would have imagined, much to his surprise.

For a moment, all Jonathan could focus on was the sudden warmth against his battered body. He hardly noticed how close he was being held to the person's chest; all that he knew at that moment was the heat bringing some life back into his person.

Words finally floated into Jonathan's consciousness. The words themselves were meaningless to him, but he recognized the foreign dialect. He instantly matched the accent to the person and felt himself relax. He forced his eyes open, and sure enough, he was met with the familiar blue fabric of an overcoat.

The words slowly began to make sense in his sluggish mind. "Oh dear... Oh dear..."

Despite the worry that radiated from the words, Jonathan felt a strange sense of peace. His right hand slipped down from the shoulder it was resting on until his fingers was resting on the curvature of the shoulder. He tightened his grip slightly, holding onto the fabric.

Had he not been so disoriented, Jonathan knew he would never have come to Jervis Tetch in this state. He would have never gone to anyone when he was this weak, this fragile. He hadn't even realized this was where his feet had been taking him on his trek across Gotham. He knew that if he'd been in his right mind, he'd have never come to Jervis so he could see him in this state.

...but he knew he'd never fool himself into believing that he wasn't comforted by the fact that he was with Jervis. He'd blame it on blood loss later, but he was genuinely glad to see Jervis and that it was him he was with now.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so I posted this sketch on deviantART recently with Jonathan collapsed against Jervis. I had some folks demand to know what was going on. This is my response.

I did some different things with this piece that I'm used to, but I wanted to give it a try. Also, I've been obsessed with hurt/comfort fics lately, and I really wanted to write something up. So, here you go. Thank you for reading, and feedback is always welcome!


	5. Criticism

I do not own any of the named characters. They belong to DC Comics. The quotes are from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. This was written purely for fun.

* * *

Jonathan Crane massaged his temple through his burlap mask, trying to calm the throbbing headache he had developed since leaving the crime scene. He was leaning against one of the walls of the Hatter's hideouts, trying with very little success to ignore his partner in crime.

With an inaudible grumble, he lowered his hand from his mask to cross his arms over his thin chest. His enraged eyes shot to Jervis, who was _still_ going on about the luck of their situation. Crane's irritated orbs followed the Englishman around as he cheerfully made the preparations.

"…and which tea do you think she'd like, Earl Grey or English Breakfast?" Jervis finally stopped bumbling around and looked over at the villain against the wall of the small kitchen. His wide grin faltered only slightly when he saw the murderous glare he was receiving. "Oh, come now, Jonathan, chances like this only come once. I had to take it."

Jonathan's eyes narrowed behind his mask as he broke the silence he had held since their departure from the heist. "Did you really _have_ to interrupt our scheme to recognize and abduct her?" he asked in a seething voice.

Jervis returned to the preparation of the tea with a roll of his eyes. "It's not like I'll get the chance again. I mean, there _is _the possibility of her coming into Arkham sometime, but I somehow doubt that will be anytime soon. Besides, we still got what we went there for, didn't we? I don't understand why you're so upset."

"You're acting like a housewife," Crane groaned, his hand returning to his head to massage his temple again after closing his eyes.

"Are you embarrassed?" the Mad Hatter asked with genuine curiosity as he glanced over his shoulder.

"'Enraged beyond belief' is more like it," the Scarecrow growled as he shot another glare at the Hatter.

"Good," Jervis replied cheerfully and returned his focus to the brewing tea, unaware that his optimistic response acted like fuel to Crane's irrational anger. "I don't know if I could stand the thought of you being embarrassed over something like this."

The Scarecrow could feel himself itching to shoot fear toxin in the madman's face. Before he could, he forced himself away from the source of his growing headache and into the next room where the madness would soon begin.

He took a deep breath and allowed his eyes to scan the room and its current inhabitants. They were exactly as they had left them: the five hired thugs standing guard around the long table, ensuring their kidnapped guest didn't leave. The brunette woman was still seated at the end of the table, looking both unsure and frightened.

Crane couldn't even delight in her fear.

He felt the eyes of everyone in the room follow him as he found a spot against the wall to stand against. He crossed his arms and continued brooding. The wide brim of his hat hid his eyes in shadow.

"…um…"

The Scarecrow looked up to glare at the hired muscle who had finally spoken up. His irritation spiked again when he saw it was the goon adorned with rabbit ears. He was thankful that only two of the five were dressed for Tetch's sick pleasure, but that still didn't help his mood.

The 'March Hare' glanced toward where the woman was seated before he looked back at Crane. "…i-is Mr. Hatter, er…almost done?"

Had it been another situation at any other time, Jonathan would have played on the fear in the thug's voice. "Hell if I know," he grumbled menacingly, clearly not in the mood to talk.

The rabbit-eared thug nodded hurriedly and returned to standing guard.

Crane's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before they shot to the woman at the head of the table. He caught her staring at him before her gaze fell to her lap. He continued to glare at this despicable woman, silently cursing her for being at _that _bank on _this _day at _that precise_ time. The Mad Hatter had called it luck; the Scarecrow called it a misfortune on the grandest scale.

The room had remained silent and motionless for a few more minutes before the Mad Hatter walked in. Jonathan finally broke his stare to watch Jervis pour the woman a cup of tea, making idle chit-chat. The woman didn't look like she knew how to react, so she forced a smile, accepted the tea, and tried to reply with as much vigor as the crazed blond man.

_'Don't encourage him,'_ Jonathan groaned in his mind.

Her obviously begrudging response only made the Hatter more cheerful and he returned to the kitchen in a whirlwind of energy. The room seemed to share a sigh in relief of after his departure. The men then turned in unison to gaze at the woman, who looked unbelievably apologetic. How else was she supposed to respond to the madman dressed as a literary figure who abducted her?

As she began to eye the steaming cup of tea suspiciously, Crane rolled his eyes. _'Like he'd poison you…'_ he thought to himself. _'Oh no, he'd __**never**__ poison you.'_

There was a call from within the kitchen, beckoning the two Wonderland-clad goons to leave the room. They exchanged looks that spoke volumes on this ridiculous situation, but reluctantly answered their boss's call, leaving the brunette woman in the company of the Scarecrow and his goons.

Oh, how tempted Crane was to end this nightmare here. Nothing was worth this headache…certainly not _**this**_. He could hardly believe this was actually happening.

He had just uncrossed his arms to rub his eyes through his mask when he heard three pairs of footsteps entering from the kitchen.

"Now, my dear, I'd like you to be honest…" Jervis was saying.

Crane's teeth gnashed as he felt his muscles tense in sheer aggravation. _'This is not happening.'_ There was a sound of things being placed on the table, which made Jonathan all the angrier. _'He did not abduct this woman.'_

The Scarecrow finally removed his fingers from his eyes and glared at the madness that was unfolding. _'He seriously did __**not**_ _abduct the damn __**food critic**__ from the Gotham Gazette!'_

He found the relatively well-known food critic staring down at the platter of freshly baked scones placed before her. All around her was an assortment of various jams and empty tea cups. On the left side of the table closest to him was the man dressed in the mouse ears. On the right was the goon in the rabbit ears. Standing behind the chair directly to the woman's right was the Mad Hatter, grinning down at her and waiting with a remarkable amount of patience.

He let out an inaudible groan and brought his hand back to face to lay over the side of his face. Jervis had seriously stopped in the middle of their heist, recognized this woman, _kidnapped_ her, brought her back here, to _judge his baking._

He knew the Hatter was mad, but this was downright ridiculous!

The Scarecrow was still fuming as Jervis and the critic shared a few words about the scones and baking.

The Mad Hatter had just picked up the teapot when he glanced over at Crane. "Would you like some tea, Jonathan?" he asked politely with a smile.

The Scarecrow lowered the hand from his face and tilted his head up enough to where he could glare daggers at the blond Englishman. His hand clenched into a tight fist and he stood silently, positively seething.

A brief moment of silence passed between the two rogues.

"Alright!" Jervis replied just as cheerfully, his smile faltering not once. He began pouring himself a cup of tea and returned to his conversation with the critic as if he wasn't receiving the darkest of glares from the masked man in the room.

Crane hardly knew what more to do aside from standing back and taking in the madness for what it was. All he could do was stare; he hardly even believed this was truly happening.

The topic of butter was somehow brought up. "I-It's the very best butter," the rabbit-eared goon said with the etiquette of a child in the school play.

Jervis turned and grinned up at the goon, pleased that one of his hired men had finally learned one of their lines at long last. A relieved look crossed the rabbit-eared man's face when the Hatter returned his focus to the woman.

The Mad Hatter was in the middle of pouring her a new cup of tea when she said "Oh, this is far from the best butter." The Hatter froze completely as the critic continued on with the topic of butters, his bucktoothed grin vanishing at long last.

Jonathan watched Jervis with piqued interest. His eyes traveled to the 'March Hare,' who suddenly looked terrified.

As the woman prattled on, the Englishman stopped pouring the tea and stood rigidly. His brow was furrowed over slightly widened eyes. He stared off at something, tumbling her words over in his crazed mind.

"You lied to me!" Jervis screeched without warning, cutting the critic off. He spun on his heel and smashed the teapot into the face of the goon standing next to him. The glass broke on the collision, sending the scalding hot tea all over his face and across the room.

The goon let out an agonizing scream and crumbled to the ground, clawing at his face. The other hired help looked on with horror, as did the food critic. The man's screaming transformed into heavy breathing.

Jervis glared down at the man, looking absolutely furious. He held what was left of the teapot in a death-grip down by his side.

As if a switch was thrown, his expression suddenly transformed into that of disappointment. His blue orbs went to the handle of the teapot in his hand before he sighed and looked down at the writhing man at his feet. "Now look what you've made me do," he said in a belittling voice and a sad shake of his head. He delicately put the remainder of the pot on the table.

His infamous grin instantly returned his face as he spun to the horrified critic. "I'll go brew some more tea!" he declared brightly. "_'You can always have more!'_" Before another word could be said, he moved gracefully out of the room.

In all of the chaos of the situation, no one seemed to notice the Scarecrow giggling quietly to himself. Okay…maybe this _was _worth the headache.

* * *

A/N: I am back! Golly day, this past semester of college wiped me out. Six classes while working... But classes are over and I have the summer! Back to writing! I'd like to thank everyone for their patience with me.

This has to be one of the most ridiculous things I've ever written. This stemmed from the desire to write some situation in which Jervis learns it _isn't _the very best butter and reacts this way. I've been dying to do something with that idea for the longest time.

I hope you enjoyed this little piece of silliness! Thank you for reading, and feedback is always welcome.


End file.
